In For the Kill (McClouds & Friends #11)(24)

He tugged her hand away. “Time out, Sveti. Take a moment. Clean up, chill out. Here’s a towel for you.” He passed her a towel from the stack and marched out without looking back at her.

He regretted it, the instant the door clicked shut behind him.

He turned on the bedside lamp, but the splotch of red on the sheet horrified him all over again, so he switched it back off. The candle was more forgiving. He got to work stripping the bed. Sveti came out as he was wrestling a fresh contour sheet over the mattress.

She moved to help, but he waved her away. “I’ve got it,” he said. “Just let me get this sheet someplace where I don’t have to look at it.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” she said.

He scooped up the linens. “I’m the one with the dick,” he said. “Technically, that makes it my fault.” He hauled them into the spare bedroom that functioned as his catch-all and laundry room, and found her bent over the bed, tucking and straightening when he got back. The angle showcased her ass, painting it tenderly with candlelight and shadows. He wanted to drop to his knees, shove her thighs apart, and tongue-kiss the shadowy recesses of her *. It made him dizzy.

“I said I’d take care of it,” he grumbled.

She straightened up, turned. “I didn’t set you up to make you feel bad,” she blurted. “I would never, ever do that to you.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

She cleared her throat. “I thought men liked to be the first one.”

Sam tossed the comforter up and let it drift down onto the bed. “There could be some sort of Stone Age ego rush to it,” he admitted. “Presupposing the girl tells you, so you can adjust your technique and not ruin her first time. Jesus, Sveti. What were you thinking?”

“Stop scolding. You’ve scolded enough. Nothing was ruined.” She straightened the comforter until it rested on the bed with mathematical precision. “Please, don’t feel bad. I’m fine. It was amazing. You can have your Stone Age ego rush, if you want. You’re entitled to it. I never knew how good messing around could feel, until that day in Bruno’s studio. Ever since then, I’ve been wondering if I was building it up in my mind. If it could possibly be as awesome as I remembered.”

He waited until his head was about to explode. “And? Was it?”

“Better,” she confessed. “Infinitely better. Right up to the part that wasn’t your fault.”

Sam blew out a sharp sigh and shoved the shaggy hair off his face. “I’d be happier about that if it was our wedding night.”

Leaden silence followed that manipulative, childish, jerk-off pronouncement, but f*ck it, why even bother with restraint? What was the point in all that effort? He’d get no return on his investment.

“Oh, Sam,” she whispered. “That’s not fair.”

“Sure isn’t.” He folded the comforter back and sat on the bed, his head in his hands.

“I’ve messed this up.” Sveti’s small voice sounded as miserable as he felt. “The last thing I wanted was to hurt you. Shall I call a car?”

He startled them both with his swift lunge and grab. He jerked her jealously close. “Oh, no. I haven’t suffered anywhere near enough tonight,” he said. “Lay it on me, Sveti. Let me see what else you’ve got.”

She gazed down with that sad, soulful look, the one that made him ache to make her laugh. Slid her fingers into his hair. The heels of her cool hands petted tenderly over the brush of stubble on his jaw.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” she whispered.

He cupped her ass, his long fingers gripping her hungrily. “I never wanted to hurt you, either. I wanted to make you come until you fainted.”

She sank to her knees, seized his cock. His body jerked back in startled alarm. “No way!”

“Why not?” She kissed the top of his thigh and rubbed her soft cheek against the grain of his body hair.

“After what just happened? Are you f*cking kidding me?” He choked off a moan as she did one of those world-class twist-’n’-swirl moves. “Not comfortable with this,” he gasped. “Jesus, Sveti!”

Her smile was mysterious. “My goal is not to make you comfortable. My goal is to make you come until you faint.”

He shook with laughter, his hands clamped over his dick, holding her hands still. “You don’t have to do this.”

“But I’ve wanted to. For years.” Her tongue darted out to lick the flushed, gleaming tip of his cockhead, the only part poking out of his fists.

“I can’t,” he told her. “I’m traumatized.”

Another teasing lick and swirl. “This part of you doesn’t seem traumatized at all,” she said.

“That part of me talks all kinds of trash. Don’t listen to him.”

Her eyebrow tilted up. “Do you need to fight me, Sam? Is that what you need to get through the wall? Because I can give you that.”

He doubled over in silent laughter. Oh, shit. She was winning. He was toast. He looked up, opened his mouth, and abruptly forgot whatever he’d wanted to say. He just stared at her face. Soft with laughter. Her smile, so wide and relaxed. Shining. Bonfire bright.

“What?” she demanded.

“Your smile,” he said, helplessly. “Oh, my God, Sveti. Your smile is so goddamn beautiful, I can’t even breathe.”